


Push Up On Me

by nirvhannahcornell



Category: Pop Music RPF, Rihanna (Musician)
Genre: Closet Sex, Crushes, F/M, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, One Night Stands, One Shot, Seduction, imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 15:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19321027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirvhannahcornell/pseuds/nirvhannahcornell
Summary: Picture this, dear reader: you encounter your first crush at your first job and let’s just say it’s pretty hot between the two of you. Based on a concept known as “karezza.” Enjoy 😉





	Push Up On Me

She was that poster girl you dreamed of when in high school, the kind whom you were afraid to speak to but you thought about her and you knew she thought of you. You knew from the time you saw that hot video of “Pon de Replay” on VH1 that she was the hottest girl you had ever seen in your life. The way her jeans rode about her hips and accentuated her hourglass shaped body, and the way in which the hems of the legs gathered around her feet and ankles. You often checked your watch to make sure you would get home from school in time to catch the video slots and you were disappointed when it never showed.  
She was a year older than you, too, and thus you found yourself experiencing your first wet dreams. You fantasized about getting together with her. Her name whispered to you on a sea breeze straight out of Barbados: Robyn Rihanna...  
You could say it over and over again until it crystallized inside of your mind. Darling Rihanna.. Miss Fenty! No, no, darling Rihanna or darling Robyn. That was more like it. You dreamed about making out with her and breathing out her name in the softest and most sensual way possible.  
And then she released Music of the Sun followed by A Girl Like Me. You thought the party would never stop as day in and day out you reached your hands down your jeans but never went any further than that. And yet her voice was like sex to you, hot smoldering sex to leave you more than hot and bothered. She was the bad girl, more of the bad girl than Courtney Love, and you thought she was an absolute fox of a woman.  
But at the same time, you had this lingering doubt in the back of your mind that she wouldn’t like you. You had nothing on her, this bad girl who didn’t give a flying rodent’s behind about what anybody thought about her. And who were you? Just this boy with a silly crush on someone whom you had no chance with.  
It was about this time you landed your first paying job, at a retail shop about a block from your house. You wore that cheesy red vest and everything, a new productive member of society.  
Lucky for you, you were asked to tend to the music section, and thus you could look at her face at every whim, from her initial lioness look to her flustered, somewhat disheveled appearance on the sophomore album.  
During your lunch break one day, as you sit at one of the tables in the back room with a can of Mr. Pibb and half of a sandwich, you find yourself almost longing for something. Maybe it is the lack of touching at first, or maybe it is the lack of a real girlfriend, or perhaps it comes from something else. You climb to your feet and take a walk about the hallways: at some point, you reach the janitor’s closet. You think about crawling into there and hiding out for the rest of the day, but alas, you cannot. You return to the break room so as to finish your sandwich and return to work.  
It’s close to the end of your shift and you are packing everything up for your colleague Marla to clock in after you. You hear a distinct voice behind you:  
“Excuse me... I don’t know if you’re going home right now, but may I ask you a question?”  
You turn around to see those brilliant, prominent hazel eyes staring back at you. Her black hair is tied up on the crown of her head in a thick ponytail, and all she seems to be wearing upon her face is a smidgen of mascara and some eyebrow pencil: her lips are bare in fact. She has a necklace of pukka shells and a triad of silvery pendant charms, one in the shape of an octopus, one in the shape of a peace sign, and the other the glyph for Pisces; meanwhile, she is wearing denim shorts that, as far as you can tell anyways, only go halfway down her toned, light black thighs; a black camisole; bright pink flip flops, and has a black leather purse slung over her shoulder. She’s holding a pair of mirrored sunglasses in one hand and a hot pink flip phone in the other.  
You almost don’t know what to say at that moment, but then you remember that you are the employee and she is now your customer. You are the one in charge. You have to be the gentleman now.  
“Er, yes! How may I help you?”   
And meanwhile you are internally screaming “holy CRAP, it’s HER! It’s Rihanna!”  
“Does this place sell Madonna at all?” She flashes you a friendly little smile, one that coaxes a light twinkle in her eye. “I’ve been looking around for a couple of minutes but I haven’t been able to find anything.”  
You fold your arms over the top of the counter as if you are making her a deal she cannot refuse.  
“Well—” you begin, clearing your throat in hopes of sounding more manly, “I do know we have Like A Virgin and True Blue, but other than that, I would have to take a look see.”  
You gesture for her to follow you to the pop music section, and she follows you, close to you every step of the way. Madonna’s face emerges from behind a display of Britney and Celine.  
“So here we have it,” you tell her, gesturing to all of the albums as if beholding a masterpiece.  
“Hmmm,” you hear her say to herself. She steps up right next to you, right next to your ear. You feel the heat of her breath against the side of your face.  
“Does this place have—Erotica?” she asks you in a soft voice; the smell of the perfume on the side of her neck combines with the smell of the leather.  
“Erotica?”  
“Yeah. You know... ‘give it up, do as I say. Give it up and let me have my way. I’ll give you love, I’ll hit you like a truck. I’ll give you love, I’ll teach you how... to...’”  
She closes her eyes as she lingers in front of your face. You lick your lips as you feel the heat in between the two of you. She opens her eyes and gazes on at you. You feel your jeans tighten at the waist and the hips.  
“When do you come off of your shift?” she asks you in an airy, light voice.  
You swallow in response.  
“I get off—in a couple of minutes, actually.”  
“How ‘bout—you clock out and I will meet you in the back hallway.” She winks and puckers her lips at you before moving out from your face. She sashays away from there. Excited, you return to your desk to check yourself out. You take off your vest and run to the back corridor, your sneakers squeaking across the shiny linoleum.  
You peek around the corner to see the break room: no one in there.  
You keep walking along the shiny floor of the corridor in search of the smell of perfume and leather. She is nowhere to be seen: it’s almost as if she ducked out of the place through the back door. You keep going towards the back door, but as you come closer, you see there was no way she could have left the building without setting off the fire alarm. What, did she lead you on and then leave? Maybe you really are the creep you imagined yourself to be, just how the doubt in the back of your mind had told you. The voice in your mind told you so and you didn’t listen.  
And yet, you persist, searching through the back hallways of the place, and you have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that she escaped you.  
“Robyn?” you call out in a soft voice. “Robyn, where are you?”  
You feel the sinking feeling sink even more, and you think for sure that you scared her off. You stop right next to the janitor closet and the door sealed shut. You turn your head to the opposite wall when you feel a yank on your shirt collar.  
She yanks you into the janitor’s closet and the door closes behind you. The sole light is from the cracks between the door, the floor, and the door frame.  
You feel her bare skin push up against you as she presses her lips to yours. You let your hands ride up her back to the hooks of her bra and you take it off as if it’s butter. Her skin is soft and smooth; her tongue slithers around the inside of your mouth like a snake. She then let’s go of your mouth, and breathes into your face.  
“By the way,” she whispers to you, “it’s Rihanna.”  
“Okay—darling Rihanna,” you whisper back to her. She presses her lips back onto yours and she holds onto the bottom hem of your shirt. You feel her peel it off of your body. Her hands run down your chest and around your waist. Your pants are so tight that it is agonizing.  
“I can feel you,” she whispers to you in between kisses.  
“Touch me,” you beg her. Her fingers hold onto the button of your pants but she struggles to unfasten the button.  
“Hold still,” she commands, “hold—still—”  
You listen to her command and she gets it: you feel your pants slide down your hips and thighs. Her hands grip onto your butt cheeks for a squeeze followed by a light spank.  
“You like that, big boy?” she whispers.  
“Oh God, yes—” you gasp, trying to keep your voice down given you are still in your workplace and your colleagues are within earshot: Marla is also about to clock in at any given minute as well. But she keeps squeezing and spanking you: each time brings out a soft gasp and a moan from your throat. She kisses your neck which almost makes your knees buckle.  
“Do you have protection?” she asks you.  
“I don’t,” you stammer, clutching the edges of the door.  
“Okay—” She lets go of you and lifts off of your body. You think she’s disappointed and vanished into the closet, but then you remember you are blocking the door. She can’t get out.  
You feel her peel off your underwear and hold onto your shaft.  
Her fingers stroke the firm skin—oh. Oh, that is amazing. It’s like jacking off but she’s right there. She is right there with you! The butterflies in your stomach swirl and whirl into oblivion.  
You feel something wet on the head, and it takes you a moment to realize it isn’t you. The skin firms up even more as you feel her tongue run along your erection. This is your first erection, your first full on erection. You feel the skin tightening and tightening even more. She gives another damp touch before she touches your bare stomach, ever so lightly, and a gasp leaves your lips once again.  
The tips of her fingers stroke your nipples and you shudder at the feeling.  
“Take me,” she begs you, breathing into your face, “take me, boy. Take me, daddy.”  
You feel her turn around and press her lower back against your stomach.  
“Tell me—tell me to bend over,” she commands, out of breath.  
“Bend over,” you tell her.  
“No, do it with feeling, boy. Do it with feeling.”  
“Bend over,” you repeat with vehemence.  
“Harder!”  
“Bend over!” you growl. She stoops over and you hold onto your hips.  
You thrust forward, the head slapping her right between her butt cheeks. She gasps at the feeling, and you thrust again and again. She grunts and groans with each impact. The sensation is euphoric for you as you feel your heart race inside of your chest.  
She lets out a long low guttural moan, and you don’t think anyone hears her. And then you hear a knock on the door, right behind your head.  
“Who’s in there?” It’s Marla!  
You stop and Rihanna closes her mouth. Silence on the other side, and the two of you hang there, her stooped over in front of you and your holding onto her hips. Your erection is still full, the one thing separating you from her. Neither of you make a sound as Marla speaks again.  
“Anyone in there?”  
You swallow again but then Rihanna reaches around her to grab onto your head again. You feel her turn back around to stroke you some more and then kiss you on the neck. You feel her finger press against your lips to keep you silent.  
Marla whispers something on the other side of the door.  
You feel her loom before her face; the smell of her perfume is driving you insane.  
“Kiss me,” she whispers in a voice so light she almost breathes it. And you do: you taste her lips again as she pushes up on you. Silence on the other side of the door.  
“I think the coast is clear,” you confess to her.  
“Let’s keep going,” she tells you, keeping her hand on your firm dick. “We’re gonna have fun ‘til I come, big boy.”  
You sink down to the floor, right on top of your pants, and she comes down on top of you. You feel her straddle your hips and then she gyrates her hips, the same hips from the video for “Pon de Replay”, and she rides you. The first time you have ever had a girl ride you. Your first wet dream, first encounter, first erection, and now, first time. She rides you, right there, right up against the door where Marla can hear you again.  
You grit your teeth as she grinds you and rides upon the floor like a horseshoe crab. She kisses you when you feel something wet on your skin.  
There’s a soft knock on the door.  
“Is someone in there?” It’s Marla again.  
“Do not make a sound,” you whisper to Rihanna, as she kisses you again. You both are silent as you feel her climb off of you. More silence on the other side of the door. And then you hear her footsteps walk away from the door.  
She keeps kissing you and kissing you until it feels as though you are about to ejaculate. But she grips onto your head to keep it at bay. It’s driving you nuts as she caresses you and kisses you. She puckers her lips onto your neck and suckles. She follows the suckling with a gentle nibble and then a lick. She does it over and over until you feel the hickey coming into fruition right there in your neck, right there in plain sight.  
She kisses you on the lips again before she rubs her hands together.  
“Alright, get up, babe, before you get fired.”  
She picks herself up as you gasp for air. The closet is hot and stuffy, and you know there is no way to work your way around it with an explanation. In the dim light, you watch you pick up her bra and her clothes for a moment before you clean up yourself.  
You don’t get fired but you are put on probation after it is discovered that was you in the closet: you had already clocked out for the day and thus you were not technically sleeping on the job. And the hickey she had given you is there on your neck, right where everyone can see it. But you know for a fact it was worth it because you can now say, “I had Rihanna push up on me.”


End file.
